


warmer than sleeping alone

by Potoo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, The Night's Watch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potoo/pseuds/Potoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grenn and Pyp are sent to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea by their Lord Commander. It's not like the home they've grown to know in Castle Black. </p><p>  <i> Pyp had made up so many stories and lies in his life that he couldn’t tell them from the truth anymore, he feared. It was cheaper than with one of the girls. They shared a bed and sometimes they kissed and sometimes they were a bit more intimate – it might not be natural, but it was convenient; they trusted each other and they were friends, and it was as pleasant as it was warm.</i><br/><i>It was better, too, a part of him whispered. Better and more perfect than with any girl.</i><br/><i>But that was all it was. And nothing more, whispered another part.</i><br/><i>He didn’t know which was lying.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	warmer than sleeping alone

**Pyp**

It was just beginning to snow when they mounted their horses. The sun had barely risen and there was no-one there to see them off; only Ghost sat on the frozen ground and watched them attentively. Jon Snow was not there, Toad and Halder had already left the day before, and none of their other surviving friends had wanted to get up this early. Some were on duty, too, so Ghost’s was the last face they would see in Castle Black. Pyp’s chestnut garron was eying the wolf warily, but he was an amicable horse and did not shy as long as Pyp held his reins firmly to his chest. He didn’t like horses and horses didn’t like him, but this one was not as bad as the others.

“Don’t dawdle, Grenn,” he said, “it’s getting cold. I don’t want to lose my ears to frostbite on the way.”  
“You won’t lose your ears to frostbite,” Grenn replied calmly. He was scratching Ghost behind the ears, a final farewell. Who knew when they would return to Castle Black – and _if_ they would return at all.  
“Are you saying my ears are so big I will have frozen to death before frostbite so much as reaches them?” He made a face at Grenn, half a grimace and half a grin. “How mean of you.”  
“I didn’t say that,” Grenn replied sullenly and stood straighter. He was almost as tall as the grey mare next to him. His shoulders were broad and tiny snowflakes caught in his beard. Pyp was thankful he was there. Jon could have easily decided to send him and Toad to Eastwatch, or him and Halder, and then Pyp would probably not have seen Grenn for a very long time.  
He wondered if Jon knew what was between them; and he wondered if he knew it himself. It was not right to feel for a brother as you should feel for a wife. He had seen men hanged for less. Pyp tried to forget such thoughts and looked back at the wolf.

Ghost seemed as if he was about to whine. Of course, he didn’t, not even when Grenn retreated to mount his horse. He turned her around swiftly. What Pyp lacked in horsemanship, Grenn more than made up for. There was a reason beyond his size and strength he had been made a ranger. He had a certain way with animals, especially spooked ones – his big hands always found precisely the spot to touch to calm them down.

“Have you sufficiently taken your leave of Ghost?” Pyp asked. The impatient edge to his voice had not disappeared. It wasn’t pleasant to know you would be missed so little that nobody but a wolf had come to say goodbye. “We could take him with us to Eastwatch if you’ll miss him so much. Say we found him on the way and decided to keep him. Our brothers will be so jealous.”  
Grenn grunted and turned his mare around.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly.

Pyp threw one look over his shoulder when they had begun to ride. Ghost remained sitting on his spot and stared at them until he melted into the white background.

The snowfall was growing denser.

-

It was a long and hard ride from Castle Black to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. There were only two of them and they traveled light; the Wall next to them made orientation easy; and their horses made good speed, but still it would take two days or more to reach the port. And the snow was obscuring their view more and more. Pyp had not believed it could grow colder than in Castle Black, but the world held many surprises for him, and his teeth chattering violently while his horse shook him through and through seemed to be one of them. They rode for hours. The wind made any conversation they may have had impossible.

Pyp would have given a lot to hear Grenn’s stupid voice after five hours of wind howling and his teeth’s constant rhythm grating on his nerves.  
They dismounted for a while and ate some bread, huddled in the shadow of the wall. Then they rode on until dusk fell.

“Sable Hall,” Pyp told Grenn. The snowfall had grown a bit lighter, but it was still icy cold outside. “Last time anyone lived in here, Old Valyria still existed, I’ll wager.” The ruined fort was eerily quiet, the only sounds the horses’ nervous whinnying and the wind chasing through the holes and gaps in the masonry. Parts of the roofs had collapsed a long time ago. Pyp was starting a fire while Grenn tended to the horses in another corner of the ruin. It smelled like wet horse and dead rats and moldy hay, but when Pyp started to cook some sausages, that scent was stronger than everything else. Grenn sat down next to the fire with a soft _huff_ and grabbed one of the sausages gratefully.  
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. The fire was warming Pyp’s skin, the food was warming his belly. They were sitting closer to each other than they would in the hall of Castle Black.  
When they started talking, they did so at the exact same moment.  
“He shouldn’t have sent us away,” Grenn said while Pyp was starting to complain about how sore his ass was. A lengthy joke about horses and their descent from the Others themselves would have followed, but he swallowed it when he heard how serious Grenn had become.  
“Well, he doesn’t need us anymore,” Pyp replied in a forced light-hearted tone, “what did we do for him but save his life countless times? That’s nothing. I mean, Dolorous Edd could hold off a whole wight army with his whining and Bowen Marsh can count every luscious lock of hair on Jon’s head.” Pyp liked Edd and had nothing against Marsh, but it was worth to see Grenn smiling weakly. The smile vanished quickly, though, when Grenn continued to grumble about Jon. “Now he’s got no friends left. Sam is gone and Toad is gone and Maester Aemon is gone. But Alliser Thorne is still there with him. It isn’t _fair_.”

He sounded much younger than his years then, like a petulant child. Pyp told him so, although nobody could mistake Grenn for a child, no matter his tone. Grenn told him he was not a child and besides, people could _easily_ mistake him for a child. Pyp wiggled his eyebrows and Grenn’s neck grew red and he hastily ate another sausage.  
“Maybe he’s trying to prove his courage,” Pyp offered as explanation, “you know. It’s easy to be brave when there’s a thousand men behind you. It’s harder to be brave when there’s a thousand men _against_ you. Jon wants to be a hero.”

“There isn’t a _thousand men_ against Jon,” Grenn replied after he had swallowed the last bite of their dinner. “And he doesn’t need to prove his courage. I’d rather my friends by my side than scattered across Westeros.”  
“We should have voted for Thorne,” Pyp sighed, “he wouldn’t have sent anyone away because he doesn’t _have_ friends.”

That made Grenn laugh. Pyp joined in. They slept in their traveling garb and when Pyp woke, his whole body was aching from sleeping on the ground. Grenn had thrown one massive arm over his chest and Pyp stayed like that, for another few minutes, sleepy and warm. Having Grenn by his side was a curse and a blessing, but most of these days it was a blessing. He told himself he wouldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t think about it; but did so nevertheless. Pyp had made up so many stories and lies in his life that he couldn’t tell them from the truth anymore, he feared. They shared a bed and sometimes they kissed and sometimes they were a bit more intimate – it might not be natural, but it was convenient; they trusted each other and they were friends, and it was as pleasant as it was warm. It was cheaper than with one of the girls.

It was better, too, a part of him whispered. Better and more perfect than with any girl.

But that was all it was. And nothing more, whispered another part.

He didn’t know which was lying.

Suddenly, he was angry but didn’t know at whom.  
“Wake up,” he barked at Grenn as he threw his arm off his chest. “You big oaf.”

 

**Grenn**

The snow had stopped sometime during the night. They actually made good speed and Grenn hoped they could spend that night in a bed again; but then Pyp’s horse went off the road all of a sudden and the better half of an hour was spent leading him back to the Wall. They could see Eastwatch when the sun went down: a huge fire burned inside its walls, its flames almost as high as the towers, but they decided not to go on in the darkness, not after Pyp’s horse had proven to be so unreliable. They could see the sea too. Grenn had never seen the sea before. The waves crashing against rock could be heard in the distance.

If Grenn had been traveling alone, he would have arrived there long before the sun had set, on his sure-footed mare. But even though they had no bed, he liked having Pyp to himself for another night. Castle Black had become a queer kind of home and he was weirdly anxious to see what Eastwatch would bring, which kind of people lived there and how welcoming they would be. He had never been too concerned with his future – even when they had sent him off to live the rest of his life as a Sworn Brother, he had not been troubled – but this time he had Pyp with him and that was a reason to be concerned. Grenn could survive most anything, but he couldn‘t deny that he was worried for Pyp. When Pyp was unhappy with something, he didn’t talk about it; if he would be unhappy at Eastwatch, he wouldn’t tell Grenn and might be Grenn would never know.

Greenguard was not as much a ruin as Sable Hall had been. Its roof was mainly intact and there were not quite as many rats. They made another fire in the darkness. Pyp told him stories about ships and Grenn believed every word, even when he started to talk of winged hulls and flying boats. Grenn sang a song his grandmother used to sing to him as a lullaby, in a rough voice that wasn’t like his grandmother’s at all. Pyp didn’t make fun of it; he said it was a lovely song, even though Grenn was sure he was lying. And that made Grenn want to kiss Pyp very much, so he did; it wasn’t easy because the cold kept them from undressing properly, but they lay with each other nevertheless, with only the fire and the horses to watch them.

At times, he was uncertain Pyp needed him as much as he needed Pyp. Not because he thought he was not a good friend – he was – but because they didn’t talk about it. Grenn had tried, he had; but Pyp didn’t want to, and that was well enough. Maybe this was nothing but a pleasant entertainment for Pyp. Maybe Pyp thought he was obliged to kiss Grenn back, for whatever reasons. Maybe Pyp was just too desperate to object. Sometimes Grenn was uncertain, yes; but when they were together like this, and Pyp moaned ’Grenn’ and sighed ’Yes’ and kissed him back fiercely and did things Grenn had never even dared to dream of before, he was not uncertain of his affections at all.

-

A gruff-looking brother greeted them outside of Eastwatch’s gates. The castle was not nearly as impressive as Castle Black was; it was smaller and it seemed to shrink away, to flee towards the endless horizon behind it.  
“The Lord Commander sent us,” Pyp told him. “To strengthen your numbers. Many have been lost during Mormont’s last ranging.”  
“He sends two to replace a hundred? You got magic powers? Maybe some invisible ghost army following you?” Pyp snorted and Grenn _knew_ he was about to say something unwise – Pyp could complain about Jon’s newly distant behavior all day long, but he was loyal to him – so he stepped in.  
“We’re weary. Let us speak to Cotter Pyke.” he demanded.

The commander welcomed them in his rooms, sparsely decorated and with the fire burning low. “Two is too few,” he told them straight forward. Grenn had a feeling Cotter Pyke was not as careful with his words as Jon was. “The Queen’s men are here, but they will go on to Castle Black soon. We can barely man the few ships we have. Go back and tell Lord Snow we need more men.”  
“I owned five rooms in Castle Black,” Pyp replied curtly, “and I’m far from a Lord. We have more rooms than men, more boys than men, we have more rats than men, probably. There are no more men to spare. Take us or send us back, you won’t get more men.” He looked tired, Grenn thought, big bags under his eyes and the smile always dancing around his lips gone. “I was on a ship once. And Grenn’s so strong he could reel a whole whale in.”

Cotter Pyke stared at them and sighed after a few long moments. “Fine. Stay. Boy, go and talk to Red Addam, he’ll get you a place on one of the ships. Grenn, help train the boys, you look like you can swing a sword. Becks,” he beckoned to his squire, “fetch Harmune. I’ll send Lord Snow a raven.” The squire hurried out of the room. Grenn followed him, but before they had left, Pyke raised his voice again.  
“Five in Castle Black? You’ll have ten rooms in here, boy,” he told Pyp in a gloomy voice.

Outside, the weather remained cold, but the huge bonfire in the castle yard warmed everyone. A few men stood around it; they didn’t wear the Night’s Watch’s black, but colorful sigils on their coats. Grenn recognized none of the symbols. But then, the only symbol he recognized was the Hightower’s tower, and he knew they weren’t among the men King Stannis had brought.  
A stout man was kneeling, his hands clasped together, and murmured quiet words at the fire. A fox was stitched onto his coat.  
“Look, Grenn,” Pyp said out of nowhere, and pointed at a thick cow led to the fire by one of the knights. “They brought your aunt.”  
“That’s not my aunt,” Grenn replied indignantly. “But I see your uncle, kneeling. He’s got your ears. You should join him by the fire, I’m sure he’s missed you.”

That made Pyp laugh; he punched Grenn’s arm and began to whistle quietly.

The smell of a burning cow began to fill the yard while they searched for rooms of their own.

 

**Pyp**

There weren’t as many free rooms as Pyke had promised, or maybe they hadn’t found them, but nevertheless they had picked two next to each other – one wouldn’t be used overly much. It was as cold at Eastwatch as it had been at Castle Black. Pyp knew nobody who liked to sleep alone.

Lunch was being handed out in the castle’s main hall. The man who had stood guard when they had arrived was sitting on one bench, and lacking a better alternative, they joined him. He looked softer in the hall’s warm light and his speech was warmer, too. He introduced himself as Garyn; his friends joined him, and soon they were a group of six, eating hot soup and yesterday’s bread. They were brothers after all, and nothing served as well to bind them together than to have a common enemy – half the benches were taken by Queen’s men.  
They talked about Castle Black and Mormont’s last ranging, about the brothers they had lost and the battle for Castle Black. Pyp’s cheeks grew red with excitement while he told them every detail he found worthy, and then some embellishments; the fight had taken a week, nobody had slept, a hundred giants and a thousand mammoths had been slain, they had all been extremely heroic. Half of the people believed him, the other half did not, but it didn’t matter, he knew. They all loved a good story and there was much laughter.  
Then, the talk turned to the outsiders.  
“That one’s Ser Axell Florent,” said Garyn, pointing at one with ears bigger than an elephant’s. “He’s the Queen’s hand. He’s very important and very impatient.” The Queen’s men were eating spit roast. “And he takes that red God of his very seriously. Just don’t talk to him at all.”

“We’ve seen the Red Priestess,” Grenn replied. “She’s odd.”

“Though not weirder than any old septon,” Pyp interjected. “What’s the difference between one and seven after all? When I’m drunk enough I can’t tell if I’ve got one or seven cocks.” That made a few of them laugh. Those who didn’t were either devout or had no sense of humor, Pyp judged.

He had one of them show him the way to Red Addam after lunch. When they left the table, he squeezed Grenn’s arm, grinning at him.

-

“This was a nightmare,” Pyp yawned in the night. Grenn had already climbed into the bed, big and warm and covered with a dozen furs. Pyp was still occupied with getting out of his clothes. “I swear, I won’t set another foot on that boat. I threw up three times and she wasn’t even moving.”

“Didn’t you say you’ve already been on a ship?” Grenn inquired. Another might have used a mocking tone, but Grenn sounded genuinely curious.  
“Yeah. I have.” He climbed into the bed and sat up, leaning against the frame and drew the furs up to his chest. Grenn was lying on his side and watching him intently. “It was about four feet long and we used it as a prop. It belonged to the fearsome Balon Greyjoy when the mummers played that war. I played all three of his sons and Balon was played by Alla. She wore a fake beard made of goat hair.”  
“So you lied.” Grenn summarized. “You've never been on a boat.”  
Pyp slapped him on the back of his head. “How dare you call me a liar! It was a real boat,” he said, “just a bit small.”  
“You can’t say you’ve fought a lion just because you’ve punched a cat,” Grenn pointed out and Pyp wondered when he had grown so cheeky.  
“And you? Did you beat up a lot of children today?”

Grenn grinned at that; a big disarming grin, open and beaming, showing his teeth and his youth. “We practiced! It was great. The master-at-arms here died and they didn’t get a replacement yet, so there was no training at all. I searched the boys that looked youngest and smallest and then we trained.” he finished his story. “I think we’ll like it here.” He raised a hand and touched Pyp’s cheek; and Pyp flushed an embarrassing pinkish shade.  
Those words sounded a bit like what he had imagined he would tell a little wife when they would build a little house for their little family, when he was ready to settle down after a thousand adventures. It was a bittersweet thought. Now he had no wife and no house and no adventures; only Grenn and the Wall. It was wrong that that made him happy enough, he knew.  
“But only if you stop throwing up just because there’s some water around you,” Grenn added, and the sweet moment was gone. Pyp grabbed Grenn’s wrist and threw his hand off him before he wrapped his arms around him. “In a week, you’ll walk back to Castle Black because you miss Ghost so much,” he murmured when Grenn, in turn, pulled him closer, to his chest.  
“I won’t,” Grenn said because he always replied to Pyp, even when it wasn’t needed, “they need me here.”

 _Yes,_ Pyp thought, _I do._

 

**Grenn**

The boy who had arrived at the Wall all those moons ago, childish and too afraid of things he should never have feared was gone; Grenn was a man now and he made friends among his new brothers easily. None of them called him dumb. Pyp told him it was because they were a bit afraid of him, but Grenn didn’t really believe that. It was because they knew him only as a man, not as the boy he had been, he thought instead, but if he had answered that, Pyp would have outwitted him.  
His new friends were not bad, he thought. Garyn had been a poacher before he’d come here. Linnel Hill claimed he had spit in Tywin Lannister’s face, and that was why they’d sent him here. Rhaegar was named for a dragon prince and after his parents had been killed by Greyjoy soldiers when he’d been a young boy, he had survived by looting Stark corpses. There were others too, but those he spent most time with.  
Pyp ate with them whenever he had time, but he had made his own friends on the ship, as soon as he had stopped ruining their boots every time he came on deck. He talked of them when he was with Grenn, but Grenn always forgot their names. They spent less time together than in Castle Black and it hurt. At least it hurt Grenn. He couldn’t know what Pyp thought, or felt, because as much as Pyp liked to talk about _everything_ , he never talked about this thing between them.

It was a shame, but Grenn wouldn’t force him. He would be content with everything Pyp gave him, he told himself, and never ask for more. Sometimes in the night, when Pyp was drooling on the pillows, he mouthed a silent ’I love you’, just to know how it would feel on his lips.

The boys in his care started growing beards, wispy and pale against their skin but beards nevertheless; they would become men soon enough, at the latest during their first battle. They were good boys, most of them, and looked up to him, and soon people referred to him as their master-at-arms, even though Pyke had never given him that title. The men trusted him and the boys trusted him even more. The Queen’s knights taught them some fancy highborn sword tricks, even. Not that those would be of much use in the wilderness, Grenn thought, but they served to give the boys some confidence. The knights would be gone soon enough. There was talk the Queen didn’t want to wait anymore, and that she feared for the health of the Princess so close to the cold sea. As if it was warmer anywhere else on the Wall.

It was a chilly morning when one of the boys asked to talk to him, alone, after training. When the other boys had disappeared to get a bowl of warm food, he led the boy into the stable to talk to him. The horses made enough noise to give them a minimum of privacy from the curious eyes of their brothers and the Queen’s men.  
“A brother asked me if I would warm his bed,” the boy said; he was blunt and easy-going, popular with his peers, short and sneaky when fighting. The others had given him some stupid nickname, because young boys always gave each other stupid nicknames, but Grenn called him Rolf, the name his mother had given him. “He grew angry when I said I didn’t want to, and said that was how it was done up here. Is it, Grenn?”

Grenn couldn’t deny he was surprised. Everything about that story sounded odd. “It’s very cold here,” he said slowly, while one of the knights’ destriers whinnied loudly, “and there is no shame in sharing your bed with one of your brothers. Many do so. The Lord Commander himself said that he’s slept with his father’s other son more often than not when they were children. Because of the cold. Do you have siblings, Rolf? It’s like that.”

Rolf shook his head. “No, no. Wasn’t like that. I’m not stupid. He touched me and when he got angry, he said I should be his _cunt_.”

Grenn eyed the boy. He was no older than fifteen; not a child anymore but not a man grown either. He had soft blond hair and big brown eyes and his voice remained youthful. With a bit of imagination, one could still believe he was a girl instead of a boy. Grenn didn’t know what to say. “Well, you should not be his cunt. You two are brothers. You don’t need to do things you don’t want to.”  
The boy’s face lit up with relief. “Oh, thank the Seven. My mother used to say all men in the Night’s Watch were rapers and murderer and more evil than the Mad King. So I thought it was true, that we all must sleep with another...”  
Grenn shook his head almost violently. “He took a vow, the same you have. _I shall take no wife..._ ”  
The boy interrupted him. “... _hold no lands, father no children._ Yes, I know. All right.” He grew stiff and bowed. “I thank you, m’lord.”  
Grenn patted him on the shoulder. The boys persisted in calling him that and Grenn had given up correcting them. “Good, good. Go join your friends.”

A few minutes after Rolf had left, he remembered that he should have asked the name of the brother he had been talking about.

-

There were fading red bruises on Pyp’s neck when they sat down to have dinner that evening. Rhaegar joked that a sea snake must have come out of the sea and wrapped itself around his neck. Pyp brushed it off with a joke of his own, but there was a content smile on his face. Grenn knew the feeling well. When Pyp left marks on him, they were no different from sparring bruises, only a bit lighter, but he liked to touch them and feel the warm blood beneath. Besides, it spoke more than a thousand words. Nobody believed in sea snakes; they all knew why those bruises were there.  
Grenn considered about relaying Rolf‘s story to his friends; but then he thought better of it. What if the unknown man with his strange requests was one of their friends? He would ask Pyp before he’d do anything else. Pyp wouldn’t necessarily know what to do, but he’d talk and talk and talk and he’d lay out all possibilities for Grenn, and then Grenn could choose what he’d do. When Pyp stood to leave their table, Grenn made to follow him, and so did Linnel and Rhaegar. They were still joking while they were wandering through the corridors, deserted even with the Queen’s men taking up some of the otherwise empty rooms. Rhaegar wished them a good night soon, but Linnel stayed, and then said he had forgotten to bring in the horses, and if Grenn could help him, since the beasts liked him so very much? Of course Grenn agreed and Pyp shrugged before he said goodbye to both of them and wished them a good night.

He was barely gone when Linnel’s embarrassed smile faded.  
“You’re a right bastard, Grenn,” he growled and roughly grabbed Grenn’s hand to pin it to the cold stone wall. Linnel was strong and a bit taller than Grenn and muscled from his work with the horses, and Grenn was too surprised to react at first. Besides, Linnel was his brother, not his enemy. “What shit did you say to Rolf, huh? He kicked me. In the shin. That’s not how it’s supposed to be!”

Grenn understood. He scowled. “How _what_ ’s supposed to be?” he asked in a dark tone, looking up at Linnel with cool eyes. “I know that you are not supposed to force your brother to-”  
“I don’t force him!!” There was true anger in Linnel’s voice. “I don’t force him to do anything. That’s just how it goes. You don’t get it, you’re from Castle Black, you men got your buried treasures in Mole’s Town and your wildling bitches, you...”

“He’s your brother,” Grenn reminded him again. Linnel pushed him against the wall. “You don’t treat him like this. You treat him with respect and when he says no, you-” Linnel silenced him with a punch in the face.  
It wasn’t light-hearted jostling that followed; they were fighting, with fists and strength and Grenn was sporting more than a split lip when three passing brother, Garyn among them, broke them up.  
Linnel spit at Grenn. “Let me go!!” he screamed until Garyn punched him in the shoulder.  
“Shut up,” he told him eerily calmly and that actually served to make the Westerlander fall silent for the moment. “What’s the problem here?“ Garyn asked. “Grenn?”

The other two brothers were holding Grenn, but they let go when he relaxed completely in their grip. He was looking at Linnel with clear disgust in his eyes and wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand. “He wants to rape a brother,” he said chilly, “and thinks he’s right because there’s no women here.” His ribs were throbbing with pain and he wondered if he’d broken anything. At least it was worth it; Linnel didn’t look much better.

Garyn sighed. He was still holding Linnel in a hard grip.

“Grenn, things are different here. I was at Castle Black once. Mole’s Town is a blessing. There’s very few women in this part of the North. If a brother wants to lie with another, that is their matter, and that’s served us well many years. Younger brothers are protected and taught valuable things by older brothers, and... nobody complained and it helps against the cold.”

Grenn looked from one to the other, incredulous. “You do not mean this,” he said quietly, “that is different from... the boy doesn’t want to. You have no right to him. It’s mad. You’re mad.”

Linnel’s temper flared again and he raised his voice. “Says you!! Do you think we don’t know how it is? You say we are mad, you come here and say we shouldn’t do what we’ve done for seasons, but you brought your own whore!”

“I didn’t bring a whore,” Grenn replied, confused. The misplaced anger didn’t serve to feed his own anger but instead strangely calmed him. “I saw a whore once in my life and she’s probably somewhere in-”

“You fuck him every night! You have no right to tell me I can’t fuck the boy!” Linnel yelled. Garyn rolled his eyes but Grenn didn’t see that; his gaze was narrowing on Linnel and his mind was racing. “At least Rolf looks like a girl, your whore is as ugly as-”

And then, Grenn understood.  
“He’s not my _whore_ ,” he growled and didn’t give the others another second before he threw himself on Linnel.

 

**Pyp**

“You’re snoring,” someone told him and Pyp was awake in a second. He blinked around the dark room sheepishly until his eyes got used to the darkness.  
“Seven Hells!” he cursed, his throat raw from the sleep he’d fallen into, and as soon as his eyes were adequately adjusted, cursed again. “By the Stranger, what happened?” Grenn was sitting on the foot of the bed and looked as if he had just brawled with a dozen mammoths. It was a terrifying sight. Immediately, cold fear crept up on Pyp. He was reminded of the Battle for Castle Black, but Grenn had not looked half as bad then.

And Grenn was looking at him too; but he seemed completely at peace, with a smile on his face. A bloody smile. Pyp scrambled closer immediately and saw that he was bleeding from his lips, a huge ugly crimson-colored rupture across his lower lip. Blood caked his beard. There were bruises that hadn’t been there that evening, too, on his face, and his hair was completely disheveled.  
The sight frightened Pyp for reasons he couldn’t explain.  
“I’m good. Maester Harmune’s said it will heal well. He says nothing’s broken, too.” Grenn stated as if it was a perfectly valid explanation.

Pyp just stared at him. “I can’t believe you! You managed to get this hurt with no wildlings, no enemies, no wights anywhere nearby! You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever seen!” With the initial panic fading, fear and anger fought for control.  
“Aren’t you going to take care of me?” Grenn asked in a tone of voice Pyp couldn’t accurately place as either hopeful or playful.

He snorted. That was always a safe reaction. “Because you, what, managed to step on someone’s toes and got your payback? I don’t think so, no. You’re a madman.”

Grenn shrugged. “Maybe.” He’d been watching Pyp all this time, but then he closed his eyes. “Gods, I’m tired. Let me sleep, Pyp, if you can stop talking for _once_. It’s almost dawn.”

 _That late?_ , Pyp thought. The fear within him vanished as Grenn wearily leaned his head back, and Pyp drew him down to the bed. “You better rest then. What was it that kept you up the whole night? The horses, were they stubborn?” He snorted again. “Did one of the beasts bite you? I’ll bite back.”

Grenn shook his head. “’s not important,” he told Pyp and that was when he knew it was _very_ important.

“Fine,” he said instead of asking further questions, “sleep. You look like you need it. I’ll leave you to it.”

Grenn shook his head again. “Don’t.” He paused to think about something. “I mean, _please_ don’t. You should stay with me.”

Pyp shrugged and laid back down. He wouldn’t be able to sleep either way, curiosity would keep him awake. “What happened?” he asked in a quiet voice, but Grenn didn’t answer, not at first.  
They were lying next to each other, facing each other. Grenn splayed his thick fingers on his cheeks, but it wasn’t a forceful grip; instead, surprisingly gentle. Grenn was always gentle. “I need to talk to Jon,” he said at last, “there are some things that aren’t going well here.”

Pyp furrowed his brows. Grenn usually wasn’t this vague. He said what needed to be said, nothing less and often nothing more either. “What are you talking-” he tried, but Grenn shook his head again.  
“I need to talk to him. We need his help.”  
Slowly, Pyp understood that Grenn wouldn’t talk about the cause for his injuries. It disappointed him. _He_ wouldn’t have hesitated like this out of false pride, he would have already told Grenn a dozen times, probably. “Jon is Lord Commander. He’s got better things to do, and you know that as well as I.”

The room was quiet, save for their breathing. Pyp would have thought Grenn had fallen asleep, if the fingers on his face weren’t moving in small circles. Pyp was mesmerized by the soft motion for a while, until he pried the other’s fingers off his face. He leaned in and pressed a dry kiss on his cheek. “You need to rest,” he said but Grenn ignored him.

“He’s our friend. If I were Lord Commander, and you came to me with a problem, I would help you take care of it.”

Pyp’s mouth – or maybe it was his heart – was quicker than his mind. “Yes, but we’re not just friends.”

It seemed that their breathing grew louder. Pyp could hardly believed what he’d just admitted. He was just as mad as Grenn, he assumed. He could still talk himself out of this, if Grenn were to inquire further, he had a million excuses he had repeated to his own conscience so often he knew them by heart now. _A man needs to fuck from time to time, it’s warmer than sleeping alone, you’re not beautiful but your smile is, if I didn’t have you I don’t know if I could take it all, cheaper than with a whore, you’re better than all the wives I’ve ever imagined, you’re always there and you’re- I want you, I–_

Pyp had a million excuses, and he was ready to inform Grenn of them, tell him exactly the myriad reasons they weren’t lovers.

“Of course we’re more than friends.” Grenn said then. “We’re brothers. That’s all.”

But that wasn’t all. Pyp was completely thrown off balance. “No,” he said instinctively. “ _No._ Why’re you saying that? We’re-”

“What?” Grenn asked, and the flush on Pyp’s cheeks grew so hot he could feel it. “We’re what, Pyp? Am I your whore?”

He leaped to his feet and sprinted out of the room.

Grenn called after him, but Pyp didn’t react. He would fight a thousand armies, but he was fleeing from the truth.

-

The day passed much too quickly. Pyp would have liked to labor longer and harder, until he had forgotten all the thoughts turning around in his head and fallen into a dreamless stupor. He concentrated on every fibre of the wooden planks beneath his feet. His brothers talked to him and he spun stories for them, but even the stories and the laughter didn’t serve to carry him away from his thoughts.  
“I’ve heard it was because of a woman,” said one of the brothers, “that he’s got a wildling woman and Linnel threatened to fuck her or kill her.”  
“I’ve heard it was because of a group of wild dogs,” said another, “they followed Grenn and attacked them all.”  
“I’ve heard it was because of my cock,” said another and everyone laughed.

Pyp tried not to listen. He knew stories well. Garyn, Linnel and two other brothers had been to the Maester and had gotten their wounds treated; Linnel had two broken ribs and would not be able to work for a while. They had spoken to Pyke the night before. Those were the facts, and everything else was a lie. Pyp didn’t want to listen to lies about Grenn.

Then one of his brothers asked him. “Do you know what happened? Has Grenn told you?” Pyp shook his head. “Aren’t you two close?”

 _We’re what, Pyp?_ he heard Grenn’s voice in his mind, soft but unwavering.

“Yes,” he replied and served the brother a colorful story of a wild unicorn and dragonglass daggers. That was what he wanted to hear, after all. People seldom wanted to hear the truth.

He stayed on deck until after the sun had set and then dragged himself into his own room, for once; and he was relieved to see it empty. He didn’t think he wanted to speak to Grenn just yet, even though worry had been gnawing at him the whole day. Despite the extortion, Pyp didn’t sleep well that night. He got up and wandered the deserted corridors. The knights would leave the very next day, entourage of their Queen. Pyp hadn’t seen her once. He wondered how a true Queen looked like.  
He didn’t want to think of Grenn, yet his thoughts returned him of their own accord. _Am I your whore_ he’d asked and that had to be the most stupid question Grenn had ever asked: not an easy feat. He was as far removed from a whore as Pyp could imagine. He was... someone he shouldn’t be. Not to Pyp. Grenn would have made a good father. If he hadn’t been sent to the Wall, he would have a bunch of brats by now. Instead, all he had were ice monsters, endless snow and Pyp in his bed. No children, no soft, warm woman with a plush mouth, only Pyp with his too-quick tongue and sharp elbows and greasy hair. That didn’t seem just. Fate had not treated Grenn the way he deserved.

Pyp sighed. He had spent so much time evading the question and the answer that he could barely find it now, but he felt as if he was grasping at something, blindly, some semblance of an answer.

Grenn was strong and fair and funny. He was seldom in a bad mood, he was calm and reliable, his laughter was contagious and his anger hilarious, his eyes twitched when he chuckled, he was honorable and brave, his arms made Pyp feel safe, he smelled like fresh pines in the evenings, and he was more a home to Pyp than any place had ever been.

The walls around him were very cold, as was the stone ground. He would have liked to see Ghost or Jon or even Sam then; he didn’t want to talk to them or ask for advice – that would not go well – but merely to see their faces. He missed them.  
He missed Grenn and felt utterly foolish. Pyp had lived many years without Grenn. He had endured the long time of uncertainty when Jon and Sam and Grenn had been ranging and he had been made to cut up vegetables, even though it had been difficult. A mere day was nothing.  
But he missed him and he wanted to talk to him.

When he knocked on Grenn’s door – instead of simply entering; they shared a life, knocking had always seemed unnecessary – his heart was beating wildly, and that was something he was unaccustomed to. Not with Grenn, his dependable, calm, sincere, staunch, _good_ Grenn. And that was his answer, he supposed.

 

**Grenn**

It had been Ser Axell Florent who had discovered them that night, a bloody heap on the ground. One brother had fled but the others had sided with Linnel, so Grenn had fought three of them at once. They lacked his endurance and indifference to injuries, but he had been hard-pressed nevertheless, and had felt like dying when the knight had found them.

He had not wanted to hear of any so-called ’excuses’ although Grenn knew he was in the right. Cotter Pyke didn’t want to hear of them either. “Don’t meddle,” he just told Grenn in that abrupt way of his, “you may be the Lord Commander’s favorite, but you can’t expect everyone to do as you tell them. You don’t belong here, brother. I won’t punish you because Linnel started this, but be careful next time.”

“If one my soldiers had behaved so unruly,” Florent had said, “I would have him flogged.”

Pyke had merely sighed. “This is not your soldier, though. Grenn, be thankful I’m your commander, our dear Ser would have killed you. He’s hurt, Florent, a harsh punishment would threaten his life.”

Florent had stiffly made his departure and Cotter Pyke had sent them all to the Maester and to bed immediately afterwards.

Grenn had still been angry when he’d entered his room, but the loud snoring and the peaceful way Pyp had been lying in his bed had pacified him. There must have been some anger left, though, or else he wouldn’t have said the wrong thing. He knew he shouldn’t have asked Pyp about it, he had known it all along, but his blood had been hot and he had felt so full with passion that he had wanted an _answer_. He had wanted to know for sure he hadn’t fought for nothing.  
He had wanted to know what Pyp wanted from him.

He still wanted that, but while the day passed, it became increasingly clear he wouldn’t receive an answer. Grenn didn’t sit with his ’friends’ during dinner – Linnel was still with the Maester either way, two of his ribs most likely broken – but sat alone instead. It wasn’t pleasant to eat alone, but there were more important things on Grenn’s mind. He regretted pushing Pyp too far; at the same time, he was angry with Pyp for having run away. There was no reason he should have run away. Grenn wouldn’t have hurt him, not in a thousand years, and Pyp _knew_ that.

Another treacherous, poisonous thought wormed its way into his mind. Linnel’s words had been ridiculous, but they worried a part of Grenn nonetheless. What if Pyp was like them – what if – what if he was with him only because he thought he would gain something from it. Protection, or guidance, or maybe gold. But that wasn’t Pyp and that wasn’t him and it was _stupid_ ; Pyp only needed to ask and Grenn would give him _everything_ , he didn’t need to do things he didn’t want to do.

Pyp would keep running from him, he felt it in his bones, and that made him sad. He would have apologized. He would have said, Pyp, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I said, let’s never talk about it again, just come back. But Pyp hadn’t even given him the chance to apologize.

Someone knocked on his door long after he had gone to bed. Grenn had stayed up and waited for Pyp in the hall, but he hadn’t shown up, and he was still feeling a bit weak. Grenn heaved himself up. He expected the worst. It couldn’t be Pyp – Pyp would never _knock_ – it couldn’t be Pyke who wouldn’t knock either, it could only be one of the other brothers, and who would come to visit him this time in the night? He could think of only one possibility and prepared himself for the worst. “Come in,” he yelled loud enough to be heard through the thick wooden door and stemmed himself up on the bed.

The sight of Pyp had never been more welcome, but he didn’t stand to greet him and tell him what an awful friend he was, only smiled at him from the bed. The anger he had felt for Pyp running away was fading now, melting away more with every second he looked at him.  
Pyp fidgeted and nodded, but didn’t move otherwise.

“You’re up late,” Pyp said.  
“You’re up later,” Grenn shot back, quite proud of his ready wit.  
“That word doesn’t even exist, Grenn,” Pyp replied and a smile was hiding beneath his troubled features.

They were quiet for a little while. Pyp was still awkwardly standing in the door. He hadn’t quite stopped running, Grenn assumed. Grenn sat up further and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, until his bare feet were resting on the cold ground. He was wearing his breeches but not much else, and the bruises colored his body purple and yellow and blue. Pyp didn’t move and he took that as a good sign.

“Who hurt you?” Pyp then asked and his tone did not allow for anything less than the truth. So Grenn told his story. Pyp didn’t move from start to finish, but his face contorted in pain and disbelief and horror.

“And then I grew angry,” Grenn finished his story. “I don’t regret it. They shouldn’t have said such things about you. You’re not a, not a. Whore.” He huffed.

Pyp was silent for a while. He sat down next to Grenn but didn’t look at him; instead, he watched his nails intently. Grenn thought about prompting him to speak, but decided against it. If Pyp wanted to speak, he would. So he waited a while longer.

“You’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met,” Pyp stated after a while, and that was when Grenn knew things would be well between them. He had to turn away to hide the huge grin spreading on his face. “Fighting three seasoned rangers alone? Because of a meaningless lie they told? What’s next, will you go out and lead a ranging naked without a horse because somebody told you there’s flying foxes beyond the Wall?”  
“There are no flying foxes,” Grenn replied and turned back to Pyp, only to see that he had at last moved his gaze away from his nails and directed it on Grenn instead. “... are there?” he added.  
Pyp shook his head. “Not north of the Wall.”

Grenn silently wondered if that meant there were flying foxes south of the Wall. But that was a question that could wait. “Pyp,” he began, and the expectant half-smile on Pyp’s face made it very easy to continue, “I know you don’t want to talk about this. I don’t know _why_ , because it’s not complicated at all, but you don’t, and that’s well. Just listen. You’re my best friend and that’s most important. I _like_ waking up with you in my arms, but if you don’t like it, that’s just as well.” It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t as well. Grenn could feel his skin crawling at the thought he might never get to touch Pyp again. “Say the words and I’ll stop being your lover. You’re still my best friend and that won’t change.”

“Was that all you wanted to say?” Pyp asked and Grenn nodded earnestly.

A moment passed before Pyp wrapped his arms around his neck and drew him down for a kiss, soft at first but growing more needy by the second. When he spoke, Grenn could feel his warm breath ghosting over his own lips. “You beat up three grown men because they assumed we were lovers and now you’re saying it doesn’t matter?” he asked and Grenn felt himself blushing.  
“No,” he said, “it’s not like th...” Pyp interrupted him by taking hold of his face and threading his fingers through Grenn’s beard. Another kiss silenced him. Pyp was pressed against him now, and Grenn winced as he touched the bruises on his torso.  
“I’m not sure it’s a good thing,” Pyp murmured, “but there’s nothing I want more in this world than you. No girls, no gold, no warm places. You’re right, I don’t want to talk about this, so let’s keep this short. Best friends is good, lovers is good, we’ll just be both.”

Grenn laughed and pulled him into a firm embrace. Those few words served to make him disregard any lingering ache in his bones. Pyp’s mouth split into a huge grin.

“You’re not sure if it’s a good thing?” Grenn asked when his laughter had faded away. He allowed Pyp no time to reply. “Then I’m doubly sure.”

Pyp sighed dramatically. “I suppose that will be just about enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I am completely appalled that there's so few Grenn/Pyp fanfiction out there. Are y'all blind. Yeah okay. Just ignore this perfect ship, go ahead. I'll go cry in a corner about the lack of fanfiction. 
> 
> This was written entirely because of [sabotensan](http://sabotensan.tumblr.com/)'s gorgeous fanart, which is why this fanfiction is dedicated to her. ♥ The fanart woke my curiosity and soon I had read every single fic on here (brilliant works! I recommend them all!!) and it just wasn't enough. Since I'm usually an RP'er I wanted to... rp... this ship... but that's impossible. So, a fic. Thanks again for reading. :) 
> 
> Oh, and a huge huge _huge_ thanks to the lovely person who beta'ed this although they had a super busy week. You're the best.


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